


Like embers in a dying fire

by Look_Alive_Sunshine



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drac!Frank, Frerard, Happy Ending, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:01:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Look_Alive_Sunshine/pseuds/Look_Alive_Sunshine
Summary: He knew that heshouldbe pulling his BL/Ind issued ray gun out of his holster. He knew that heshouldbe getting on the back of his bike right now, and he knew that heshouldbe alerting the rest of his crew about this, he knew that it would make the bald man proud.He knew that heshouldbe doing these things, and yet he wasn’t. The gun stayed in his holster, his bike stayed parked the hundred or so yards away, and his crew remained unaware.Because something was stopping him. Something inside of him was telling him not too, and so he didn’t.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	Like embers in a dying fire

**Author's Note:**

> Short little danger days thing I wrote. Enjoy :)

It was just a fire. 

A dying fire at that - the last embers dancing, throwing themselves into the wind and spiralling down, creating patterns of red yellow and orange - but a fire all the same. 

He knew what that should mean, it should mean that there were a group of zone runners nearby. He knew this because there were still glowing embers. 

Embers meant it was recent. Recent meant they were close. 

He knew that he _should_ be pulling his BL/Ind issued ray gun out of his holster. He knew that he _should_ be getting on the back of his bike right now, and he knew that he _should_ be alerting the rest of his crew about this, he knew that it would make the bald man proud.

He knew that he _should_ be doing these things, and yet he wasn’t. The gun stayed in his holster, his bike stayed parked the hundred or so yards away, and his crew remained unaware.

Because something was stopping him. Something inside of him was telling him not too, and so he didn’t. Instead, he sat down on the sand by the fire and simply watched the embers float around.

He wasn’t even sure why he wanted to make the bald man proud. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Anything aside from the fact that in this very moment he had given up. It had been grey for so long, he had been in a fog - asleep. His thoughts weren’t his own, and, for a while, he hadn’t cared.

But the colour was starting to come back to him, as he watched the embers glow; fighting to survive in a losing battle. The colour was coming back, he was waking up, his thoughts were becoming his own and he was so tired. He was so tired and oh so _angry._

The last part of his subconscious that still belonged to the bald man was screaming at him to do something about the fire - to get up and tell them so they could hunt down the zone rats that had left not that long ago, but instead he felt his body slump down lower next to the dying fire. He didn’t want to do this anymore. It was wrong, so very wrong - what he had done. He had killed people just because the bald man told him too. He had been given no other reason for it - but it was the only reason he’d needed.

The fire was well and truly dying now. What was once wood and old magazines was now nothing but blackened char and grey dusty ashes. The only light came from the small glowing embers - somehow still fighting for survival, and the moon.

He was tired. He was fed up. But most of all, he was angry.

He felt his hands lifting themselves to the back of his head. He felt them grab a hold of the mask that had bound him to the bald man for so long, and he felt them tug, watching as the wretched thing finally came off his head.

For a moment, he was shocked. Surprised at his actions, but the more he looked at it the more he realised how much he had truly despised the thing. It looked just like every other drac mask. There was no sense of originality, no sense of who he was, just a copy and pasted drac template onto every single one the bald man had created.

Who even was he? Who was he before the mask? Did he even have a name?

He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember no matter how hard he tried - he remembered nothing before the mask, before the mask and the bald man. He may not have known who he was, but he sure as fuck knew that he wasn’t going to be a minion in the bald mans twisted plans any longer.

He felt another surge of anger, nothing but pure uncharted rage sweep through him, filling every pore and coursing through his veins - and it felt _amazing._ He glared down at the mask for the final time before tossing it into the small fire pit, giving the embers something to latch onto; to grow and thrive once more. A second chance, if you will.

He watched as they grew and turned into flames - ghosts of their former selves. He watched the newly formed flames lick and tear. He watched as the flames danced and twirled, ensnaring the mask and devouring it in their path of destruction. He watched and watched as the flames rose higher and higher, faster and faster, brighter and brighter.

And then they stopped. 

They stopped and died back down almost as quickly as they had risen, leaving nothing but a melting blackened lump at their centre.

It felt good - cleansing, almost freeing, to see the thing that he’d been forced to hide behind burnt and charred into nothing. He smiled. God it had been such a long time since he’d smiled. 

He heard a commotion off in the distance. It was probably the zone rats coming back. They would probably ghost him - but he didn't care. In fact, he welcomed death, embraced it with open arms, because at least he would die free, no longer under the control of the bald man. He would die as himself, even if he wasn't entirely sure who that was. He welcomed death because it would mean that he would never ever have to be under the control of the bald man's malicious ways ever again.

He would have done it himself, would have brought the shining grey ray gun out of it's holster and up to his head, pulling the trigger and leaving himself for dead - but he thought it would be more fitting to let these killjoys do it. After all, he had done the same to so many of their own. The least they deserved was a little revenge, no matter how small it may be.

He was correct, it was indeed the zone runners. He could make out their figures more clearly now. There were only three - although he supposed it would be more dangerous to travel in larger groups, it would be easier to be spotted by Drac patrols.

One of the three had a helmet that read ‘Good Luck’. Another had bushy hair, and the last…? The last had bright red hair. Hair so bright and so _alive_ that it made him want to scream and cry, made him want to be a part of it himself.

Two of the three already had their guns trained directly towards him. The red haired one didn’t. Even as they walked closer and closer to him, red never once even looked as though he was about to take his gun. He supposed it wouldn’t matter, for both Good luck and bushy hair had taken a stance on either side of him, grim expressions set deep on their faces, moments away from shooting. He smiled, welcoming the sweet embrace of death that he knew would befall him soon. Death was an escape. An escape from all the horrible things he’d done - and he wanted nothing more than that.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen one without it's mask, let alone crying…” Bushy hair had said.

Crying? He wasn’t crying was he? But he didn’t have time to check because red had started to crouch down in front of him - a look of complete and utter disbelief on his face. 

“Careful pois, it’s probably a trap,” Said one of them, but he wasn't paying attention anymore. He wasn’t paying attention to anything but red hair’s eyes. He was wearing a mask but that didn't stop him from seeing two hazel eyes stare directly into him.

Two hazel eyes that tugged at the back of his mind. Eyes that made him want to scream, or even laugh maniacally at anyone who would listen. His mind was screaming at him to remember, begging him, telling him that these eyes were very important.

Oh how he wished he could remember.

“Frank…?” He whispered, so quietly almost as though he wasn’t intended to hear, almost as though he was unwilling to have any hope that this could be who he’d been searching for.

But that was him? Wasn’t it? That was his name - Frank. His name was Frank. He remembered. That was who he was, although he still wasn't all too sure who Frank was meant to be. But if he had remembered that then surely there was hope that he would be able to remember more?

“that’s…. me?” he asked, his voice weak and trembling, as though he wasn’t entirely sure of himself anymore.

“I thought… oh my god Frankie… I thought you were dead!” The red haired one exclaimed - pure elated joy running over his features.

“I don't…. I don’t remember… I'm so sorry…” He said, feeling instantly guilty as the joy on the boys face quickly disintegrated.

He felt selfish for what he was about to ask, knowing that it would probably hurt the boy who seemed to know him even more, but it would be so much better if he asked now, now, before he remembered, before he got attached.

“Kill me.” He said, simply.

“I… what?” The boy asked, confusion spreading across his face as though he truly couldn’t believe that someone would willingly ask that of him.

“Kill me. Put your gun to my head and shoot me.”

“I… I don't… Frankie no…”

“You have to, please. Please just shoot me. I don't want to go back, I don't want him to find me. I want to stay like this, free. I don't want to hurt anymore so please, please just fucking shoot me before I do it myself.” He was well aware of the tear tracks that now ran over his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“No.”

“Please, I’m giving you a chance. I must have hurt you at some point. I’m giving you your chance at revenge.”

“No.” He said, before removing the mask, causing a flood of emotion to run through Frank's body that his mind was too tangled up to distinguish. “Frank listen, I don't want any revenge and I’m not going to kill you.”

“FOR FUCKS SAKE GERARD PLEASE JUST FUCKING SHOOT ME”

Silence. Just pure silence. It seemed that even the wind had stopped. He sensed that the grip on Good luck’s gun had faltered - whether in shock or because they were tired, Frank didn’t know. All he knew was that he’d said something bad, because red hair had started to cry.

“Oh my god Frankie,” was all he said, before pulling him into his arms. Frank wasn’t sure what was going on, he didn’t know what he’d said, he just wanted someone to shoot him.

“You remembered my name,” Red said to him, his voice nothing but a whisper treading faintly over his ear.

“What?” He asked, because he had no recollection of remembering red’s name.

“Gerard. You said ‘for fucks sake Gerard please just fucking shoot me’. That's my name. My name is Gerard Frankie and I think that some part of you remembers.”

He had said Gerard hadn’t he? He wasn’t sure why, but in the spur of the moment he had remembered something as simple as a name.

“Are you going to shoot me? Because I think you should. Even if some part of me remembers - I don't. I don't know who you are, I don't know who I am, I don't know who we were, and I’m sorry… I’m sorry - ok? I’ve killed so many people. So. Many. And they didn’t even have the chance to run. It’s not fair, ok? It's not…”

“Frankie I’m not going to shoot you. I never would. Even if you don't remember now, some part of you does, ok? And I’m going to help you- We are going to help you. I don't care what you’ve done in the past, you’re still my Frankie. So please… Don't tell me to shoot you, because you know that I never would.” Gerard said.

“Pois, is everything alright?” Good luck’s voice came from his side.

“It will be.” 

And with that his lips came crashing down onto Franks. He remembered those lips. He remembered that hair, he especially remembered those tired hazel eyes, those eyes that had always looked out for him. He remembered that voice - the voice that had sang to him and comforted him when he needed it most. 

But most of all he remembered Gerard.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m meant to be working on a much longer fic but then my girlfriend gave me the prompt of a dying fire and I just _had_ to write it. 
> 
> Comments are much appreciated, I really love reading them :)
> 
> Also feel free to check out my other works. I’d really appreciate it! <3


End file.
